Rupert Wyatt’s Captive State begins with the trope of the ominous, overlapping news audio playing over black screens and production logos. The newscasters speak of an “apocalyptic” state. Then, we see a city of Chicago in chaos. From the vantage of noxious, tight handheld closeups inside of a car, we witness civilians trying to evacuate and being contained by the military. The car we occupy gets through the blockade, just barely, but is stopped by an elusive, pitch-colored, form-shifting alien.

We are then transported to a computer screen being fed an outgoing message, and with it comes a massive dump of backstory and expository information. “Alien forces have taken over. They now have legislative control.” “Reports of deportations—off planet.” “Our objective remains the same. Strike the closed zone. Light a match, start a war.” Yadda yadda. The increasing disparity between the rich and the poor. A military state of Chicago under heavy surveillance, aided in part by implants probed into each citizen’s neck.

All in all, it is an inelegant introduction to this dystopian sci-fi.

For many, the means of storytelling in Captive State will be a consistent issue. Inelegance is the operative descriptor. With clinical plotting, the script unravels a long thread that has some inane moments, including a comically convoluted linear trail of dominoes used to get the word out about an upcoming insurgent mission.

The scene in question unfolds like a comedy sketch, as information is distributed in increasingly zany ways: first a note scratched into a cigarette roll, which is transported via carrier pigeon, relayed covertly through a radio DJ request show, then through a barking dog. It is an almost surreal sequence of events that seems out of place in this gritty dystopian thriller.

And that shaky handheld style doesn’t disappear, either. It is a crude, at times nauseating experience, and it is a style unnecessary for the story being told. It comes off more like a lame aping of District 9 that is coming too many years too late.

The most detrimental aspect of this poor camera work is in the depiction of the alien species, who play a key, if not peripheral, part in the film. Whenever they appear, the lighting is keyed far too low. Match that with the distorting shake of the camera, and it becomes hard to see what is a truly fantastic character design. The black aliens smoothly reform themselves to fit their situation, whether they be hunting, defending, or attacking. For a mid-size budget, they look quite good, and their design is intriguing. But they are not captured in a way that is appealing.

This 1-2 punch of cluttered plot and shoddy camera work will be enough to turn plenty of viewers off. And the sheer breadth of characters, none of whom have much to contribute on an emotional level, makes commenting on the acting a non-starter. Leads Ashton Sanders and John Goodman do a terrific job of allowing us to buy into this world, but their characters disappear for long stretches of the film. In the end, every character and acting performance is tertiary to the intended spectacle of the world-building.

Yet, I was pleasantly surprised by Captive State. I was, I admit it, charmed by its mid-to-low budget aspirations. By no means a master stroke, it is a film that hums along at a nice clip. Stack atop that a world jam-packed with information to relay—from the exposition, to the plot, to the insane number of characters—and the film becomes a delirious romp.

When we hit the set piece that serves as the crucial midpoint, a turning point in the cold war, the sudden transition to directorial finesse is whiplash-inducing (in a good way?). This sequence is entrancingly tense. Even if one only slightly understands the stakes of the sabotage attempt (information is thrown at you so fast and furious that one could not be blamed for tuning out a few important kernels), the visual geography is exciting and dynamic.

In the end, Captive State is not the bombastic-yet-heady science fiction spectacle Wyatt set out to make. But it is dense with plotting and incident and intrigue. A fan of the genre may find themselves immersed enough in the world to ignore its numerous shortcomings. At the very least, there is campy fun to be had in the tension of the setup and from the rug being pulled out of certain characters during the film’s climax.

After a troubled development process, Triple Frontier, a military heist drama, has dropped on Netflix. Originally fronted by Paramount, Frontier was to be directed by Kathryn Bigelow (she retains producer credit) and starring Tom Hanks and Johnny Depp.

In its final form, it is directed by J.C. Chandor and starring Ben Affleck, Oscar Isaac, and Charlie Hunnam. Bigelow left the picture, reportedly to focus her attention on her upcoming Bowe Bergdahl film. In spite of the loss of studio and revolving door of creative names associated with it, Triple Frontier appears as a finished film. It is fully realized, both narratively and visually.

What this full realization amounts to, however, leaves something to be desired.

The picture tasks Oscar Isaac’s Santiago “Pope” Garcia with banding together a crew of his old military buddies to instigate a heist and execution of Lorea, a crime lord who has been wreaking havoc on Santiago’s home town in Brazil for years.

For a down-and-dirty heist picture, Frontier takes an interesting, at times compelling approach. Its pacing deliberate, some of the characters’ rapidly-building hubris takes shape before our eyes, giving us a sort of dramatic irony in that we are fully aware that their chances of success are slim. Without divulging spoilers, the narrative structuring involving some key props is the most intriguing aspect of the script, as it shows us the characters’ true selves.

Problem is, these true selves are not entirely engaging. Singular, often one-dimensional motivations drive these five men. As the heist commences, some of these motivations are revealed, adding a wrinkle to the character and the mission as a whole. The constancy of other characters’ motivations are, comparatively, surprising. How these various drives cause unrest in the group incite the conflict. But as dynamic as the conflict is, the characters remain consistently flat.

This is without mentioning the film’s conclusion, a have-your-cake-and-it-eat-too moment where some characters appear to wash their hands clean of their immoral actions, when in reality their gesture is purely symbolic. This conflicting resolution caps off an action-drama with a lot of verve but not a lot of substance, what one might consider a high order guilty pleasure film.

It is high order in its rather exquisite visual construction. Chandor and DP Roman Vasyanov utilize depth and staging to a dynamic end. Action on the ground in a Brazilian favela, in the outlying mountains, and onboard an overweight helicopter is all distinctly shot. It is a good looking film.

But its narrative goals are simple. Its characters benefit from casting and stand out for their lack of appeal. The end result can be fun and bombastic, but it also fails on its aspirations to live up to something bigger. It is, not to diminish the exhibition abilities of online platforms, a perfect Netflix film, in that it disappoints less by being a casual watch. Throw it on in the background, and perhaps it will draw you in.

Note: If you consider a plot synopsis of the first act of a movie a spoiler, then spoiler warning for this review. That is all.

Vers (Brie Larson) lives, with partial amnesia, on Hala, the homeworld of the Kree civilization. She spars with Yon-Rogg (Jude Law), who encourages her to control and temper her powers (which include shooting missiles of heat energy out of her hands). Her past comes to her in flashes and dreams in-between her efforts to get field work as part of the Starforce. This past is manipulated and refigured when Vers visits the Supreme Intelligence, the powerful A.I. guru of the Kree that comes to a person in the form of who is most important in their lives. In Vers’ case, it is a mysterious woman (Annette Bening).

Vers and the Starforce are tasked with hunting down the Skrulls, an alien species at war with the Kree whose members can shapeshift into any living organism they see. During the mission, Vers is separated from her crew and kidnapped by the Skrulls, who probe her mind for information.

Are you following? To the well-versed in the celestial realm of Marvel comics, this likely comes off as common knowledge. But it is presented in Captain Marvel, the latest film in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, a behemoth all-quadrant-hitting franchise, to all-comers. In a sense, this rush of expository storytelling is impressive, in that it is so much jammed into about 10 minutes of screentime. On the other hand, viewing it as a theatrical experience even for those not well-versed in the intertexts and paratexts of the IP, and this storytelling often times appears clunky.

This does not distract much from the main attractions of Captain Marvel, a film that is first and foremost a science fiction action-adventure story. These attractions include sci-fi action, dictated through impressive feats of computer imagery and occasionally disappointing jitters in the camerawork; an engaging lead performance from Larson, who is able to morph the awkward quips of the script into something more compelling; and the chemistry between Vers and her de-facto sidekick, Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson).

Through these accomplishments, Captain Marvel is able to outpace its flaws, enough so to be a consistently engaging film. Enough stakes are raised late in the film to make for a thrilling climax and a satisfying resolution, which is just what Marvel needed in order to slot Larson’s character into the larger MCU timeline.

What is less effective is the storytelling throughout the bulk of the film. While there is something compelling about the struggle between the Kree and the Skrulls, something that adds a surprising layer of emotional stakes to what in a lesser movie would be a macguffin or a side plot, the way Vers’ story is told leaves something to be desired. As a cog in a war, she fits in. As a fish out of water element, she is fine as a narrative tool. As a story unto herself, though, her past and the conflict around her overshadow her as a character.

In a way, the film appears too preoccupied with convincing us we’re watching the 1990s and making us wonder about the mystery of Vers’ past that it forgets to motivate the character beyond that. By the end of the film, we are meant to see her journey as a means of shaping her superhero identity, leading her to make the final choices that she makes. But so little is shown about who she is as a character in the present to allow us access to why she makes these choices (beyond the fact that the timeline of the larger franchise requires she make certain choices to preserve continuity).

With so much world building happening in this two-hour span of time, the audience would benefit from something to cling to as a reason to learn all this new information (again, beyond the need to expand a larger franchise). Larson as a performer acts as this reason, a beacon in the fog to be drawn to throughout the film, but her character feels under-valued in the larger story in which she takes part.

However, it is perhaps foolish, at this point of Marvel’s ubiquitous franchising power, to view a Marvel film on its own terms. Perhaps it is foolish to critique the story of a two-hour segment called Captain Marvel, when it is merely the next episode in a grand sci-fi soap opera of comic book intrigue. Perhaps my normal viewing procedure is compromised by the industrial factors that pushed Captain Marvel onto 4,500 screens nationwide, and my standards for what makes a single movie good or bad do not apply to a film that is, by its very nature, incomplete.

It is easy to view an Avengers film as a run-of-the-mill sequel and judge it accordingly. An origin story in this era of Marvel Studios is a harder nut to crack, I think. So perhaps story problems and a few clunky script elements are inconsequential to the larger entertainment value of a Captain Marvel-style installment.

It is not as if the film is devoid of truly impressive feats of filmmaking. Take, for instance, the scary good digital de-aging of Samuel L. Jackson and Clark Gregg (and I mean scary good). This is a feature of computer graphic design that Disney has been toying with for a few years now, and it has never looked this realistic. That this technology could prove to radically alter filmmaking and our understanding of the “uncanny valley” makes Captain Marvel an awesome experience (in the traditional sense of the word “awesome”).

But call me old fashioned. I like a film to stand on its own narrative feet, even if that film is acting as an introduction of a character to a preexisting universe of films. In the case of Captain Marvel, it feels as though the need to bring the superhero into future MCU films overshadowed the need to give her character a life of her own. Given these character are flattened, by necessity, in the large-scale “team up” films to basic character traits and desires, I would have liked to see more of Carol Danvers and less about her elusive past.

All the same, Captain Marvel does its job. It front-loads all of the information needed to understand the Kree and their place in the MCU. It ties up continuity threads that have been left dangling. It presents us another hero to add to the hefty Marvel Studios stable. And it has some fun along the way.

Michael (Mark Duplass) sits in a doctor’s office listening to his diagnosis. Andy (Ray Romano) stands at his side. They’re friends, of a sort, though their go-to descriptor for the relationship is “neighbor.” As Andy tries to wrap his head around Michael’s diagnosis—cancer, most likely of the terminal variety—he stammers. Flustered, he tries to get a straight answer out of the doctor, who has nothing to offer.

Then, Michael and Andy go about their regular day. They play a racquetball variation called “Paddleton.” They watch the same kung-fu movies on VHS. They do puzzles together. They say little and share a lot.

Paddleton takes the very serious subject of mortality, and it doesn’t belabor it. It makes the drama not about a death sentence but about the appreciation of friendship. It creates levity out of the simplicity of its premise, and then allows the inherent drama to emerge organically.

What results is, thankfully, not melodrama; it is something more earnest than that. It is awkward and funny and heartfelt. And its ultimate exploration of the minutiae of death is unexpectedly satisfying, towing the line between the bittersweet comedy and the emotional inevitability expertly well.

This is a credit to Duplass and Romano. They begin the film as an odd pairing, and the script acknowledges the obvious jokes on the surface of their relationship. While these asides don’t feel pertinent to the story, they appear to be introduced solely so they can be brushed over. And brushing over them allows the script to properly get to the heart of their friendship in the film’s second half.

And this second half is where the two acting leads truly shine. Romano, in particular, puts a lot of heart into his understated performance. Some of his character’s quirks are perhaps too loud for what he is doing with the performance, but he controls them well enough.

The emotional power of the film comes in the form of a couple key scenes. One takes place in a bar. Another on a kitchen floor. Another standing next to a tree branch. Uninspiring places inspiring exquisite conversations about what connects people and why. These conversations are prompted by dangling causes, which are admittedly introduced clumsily in the first half of the film. Regardless, most of them resolve in satisfying fashion.

The revelations of Paddleton are not earth-shattering, but they are poignant in their quiet way. What begins as unassuming dramedy morphs into something more ambitious, and, as a result, the film sneaks up on you. It might take some patience; you will need to allow the film to mosey a bit for it to find its way, for it to resonate on a wavelength you can attach to. But once this happens, Paddleton will surprise you.

There is something perversely compelling about Greta, the new film from Neil Jordan. At the same time, there is something far too familiar about the film, a terse obsession thriller.

Perhaps the fascination begins and ends with the inimitable Isabelle Huppert, who literally pirouettes through her pathological, homicidal character. She is the eponymous Greta, a lonely older woman who is discovered by Frances McCullen (Chloe Grace Moretz) by way of a lost handbag.

Frances recovers the handbag off the subway and returns it. Friendly Greta invites Frances in for coffee. Greta plays lightly on the piano as she divulges her past. She invites Frances to share, as well. They became unlikely friends.

However, it quickly becomes clear to Frances that Greta is not a stable individual. She attempts to politely cut herself off from Greta, which merely escalates the problem. Greta stalks Frances and her roommate Erica (Maika Monroe), issuing veiled threats and claiming that Frances and she are meant to be.

There is a slick competency to Greta. It is efficiently plotted and relies on visual storytelling, making it a perfect contemporary B-movie. The downside to this B-movie story is that its lack of novelty gives itself away. The script presents itself as tricky, amplifying the stakes as the plot leads to misdirects and false endings.

But a general understanding of this sort of tete-a-tete thriller is all you need in order to see through the twists and shocks. Initially, the mind games of Greta are rather stiff, as far as suspense is concerned. A lot of “she’s right behind you” stings. Come the film’s climax, the will-she-escape conceit promises something more tense, yet the story develops in a commonplace fashion.

You could say there’s something Hitchcockian about the film. You have a macabre psychology at the center of the relationship between Greta and Frances, this concept of a character trying to take the place of another (in this case, a mother). You have an almost hyper-simplistic thriller premise, like that of Psycho.

Unlike Psycho, however, Greta is crutched by its adherence to conventional storytelling. Where Hitchcock keeps the audience on their toes through unconventional choices and a mastery of visual storytelling, Jordan’s Greta lets the air of tension escape with each narrative beat. As we reach a climax and resolution, we easily foresee the next step. We can see the gears turning, the machine at work.

But at least the machine runs smoothly, and some of the cogs have a pretty shine to them. The final act does strike a rhythm that is somewhat hypnotic (a rhythm which is cleverly dictated by a diegetic metronome). Watching Huppert at the height of her character’s madness has its charm, as well.

These aspects are but shiny pebbles of gold in an otherwise muddy pan of genre convention. Beyond Huppert, the acting is surprisingly wooden throughout. The plotting, however expedient, is not particularly substantive. The end result of this plotting is a superfluous picture.

In January, I made my Academy Awards predictions for 2019. Since then, a lot has changed. Some of my original predictions should be considered null and void. That said, the following predictions are by no means expert predictions. And most importantly, the Academy Awards are not the end-all be-all of filmmaking achievement in a given year. There are plenty of films that the Academy chose not to honor that are deserving of some attention.

In any case, here are my final predictions for the 2019 Oscars.

Legend

Will Win: My pick to win

Upset Watch: A potential spoiler

Could Win: The race is too close to call it an upset, or I am picking against the favorite

Should Win: My personal favorite(s) out of the nominees

Best Picture

Will Win: Green Book

Could Win: Roma

Should Win: The Favourite

For a more detailed analysis, take a look at my previous article. TL;DR: Green Book and Roma are the most likely Best Picture candidates, and I believe the mainstream popularity of Green Book will win out in the end. That said, if you haven’t seen The Favourite, check it out. It is an incredibly smart parody.

Best Director

Will Win: Alfonso Cuaron

Upset Watch: Spike Lee

Should Win: Alfonso Cuaron or Yorgos Lanthimos

Regardless of how the Best Picture race shakes out, this is Alfonso Cuaron’s to lose. The only scenario in which he takes second place is if the majority of the Academy feels that Spike Lee deserves a career achievement win.

Lee’s film is quite good, but Cuaron’s control over Roma is too strong to deny. Yorgos Lanthimos’ work on The Favourite should be appreciated, as well. That film looks gorgeous.

Best Actress

Will Win: Glenn Close

Upset Watch: Olivia Colman

Should Win: Olivia Colman

Speaking of career achievement honors, Glenn Close will be winning this one. She has won everything up to this point (save for the BAFTA), and the Academy is giving her this one for her career as a whole. The “never won before” narrative is too strong in this case.

The steam in the Lady Gaga train went out rapidly, starting with the Golden Globes. Colman, conversely, has had a bit of a second wind late in the season. But it comes too late, in my opinion. As much as she deserves it (and would win it if she were designated a supporting performance), Colman is losing out to Close this year.

Best Actor

Will Win: Rami Malek

Upset Watch: Christian Bale

Should Win: Bradley Cooper

Rami Malek has been winning everything he needs to to take this award. He should win by a mile.

Best Supporting Actress

Will Win: Regina King

Upset Watch: Rachel Weisz

Should Win: Regina King

A strange case, this category is. Regina King was not nominated for a SAG award (the natural precursor to the Oscars’ acting categories). But nobody who is nominated for the Academy Award won the SAG (it went to Emily Blunt for A Quiet Place). This arguably puts King back into this race.

If there is an upset, it could come from anywhere. But I like Rachel Weisz as the runner-up. Don’t count out Marina de Tavira, though. A surprise nominee, she nevertheless could tip the scales if Roma does prove to be the Best Picture of the year.

Best Supporting Actor

Will Win: Mahershala Ali

Upset Watch: Richard E. Grant

Should Win: Sam Elliott or Richard E. Grant

Similarly to Malek, Mahershala Ali has been winning everything up to this point. Richard E. Grant is a lovable presence who would easily win over the Academy among a different field of contenders. But Ali is looking like the strong favorite to win his second statue.

Best Original Screenplay

Will Win: The Favourite

Could Win: Green Book

Should Win: The Favourite or First Reformed

It is hard to deny the writing in The Favourite, but it hasn’t locked it up in this category. There is no WGA winner in this category to tip the scales, and if Green Book has the fan favorite energy that I presume it does then it could sweep this out from under The Favourite.

In fact, if I’m going to get burned in any category for picking the film I like more, it’s going to be here.

Best Adapted Screenplay

Will Win: Blackkklansman

Could Win: Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Should Win: If Beale Street Could Talk

This is the place where the Academy will likely reward Spike Lee. The competition here is less fierce than Best Director and Best Picture. Of course, Can You Ever Forgive Me? winning the WGA award does give it somewhat of a boost.

Best Editing

Will Win: Bohemian Rhapsody

Could Win: Vice

Should Win: The Favourite

Gold Derby currently has Vice in the lead for Best Editing, and I understand the thought process behind that choice. It certainly has the most editing of any film in this category, and perhaps it is too subjective of me to put it down for that. I think the frantic editing is the worst part of Vice and, frankly, the worst part of Adam McKay’s transition into a director of prestige pictures.

My bias stated, I think Bohemian Rhapsody has a better shot. It won the ACE Eddie award for its editing, and there is a growing narrative about John Ottman’s presence saving this film from failure after Bryan Singer was fired.

Best Cinematography

Will Win: Roma

Upset Watch: Cold War

Should Win: The Favourite

There is a theory that I have been toying around with in my head that the Academy is going to have category fatigue on Alfonso Cuaron. It seems ludicrous to deny him this award, but if he wins Best Director and accepts the award for Best Foreign Language Film, as well, it’s possible Cuaron will be denied something. This theory is affecting my decision at Best Picture, as well.

I just don’t see the Academy allowing a Cuaron sweep. If the Academy is spreading the wealth, in this regard, then we shouldn’t count out Lukasz Zal or Robbie Ryan.

Best Costume Design

Will Win: Black Panther

Could Win: The Favourite

Should Win: Black Panther or The Favourite (a tie would be spectacular)

I don’t want to say this is a toss-up between The Favourite and BlackPanther, but I have been oscillating back and forth between them all season. The Favourite is a more conventional pick, with that beautiful period costuming. But Black Panther is an achievement, too. Part of me wants to seriously call a tie, even though the probability of that is low.

Best Production Design

Will Win: The Favourite

Could Win: Black Panther

Should Win: First Man

Similar to Costume Design, Production Design feels like a two-horse race. Here, though, I think The Favourite has more of an edge, given just how intricate and ornate the set design is in that film.

That said, First Man does a lot with its production design, and that helps it stand out from the many other space flight movies.

Best Makeup & Hairstyling

Will Win: Vice

Upset Watch: Mary Queen of Scots

Should Win: Mary Queen of Scots

I don’t see a scenario where Vice loses this award. It is the Darkest Hour of 2018, and its competition are films which are under-seen by comparison.

Best Original Score

Will Win: If Beale Street Could Talk

Upset Watch: Black Panther

Should Win: If Beale Street Could Talk

Nicholas Britell deserves this one. His score for If Beale Street Could Talk stands out from the pack. It is hard to see him losing this, but if he does it will likely be in favor of the Grammy-winning Black Panther score.

Best Original Song

Will Win: A Star is Born (“Shallow”)

Upset Watch: Black Panther (“All the Stars”)

Should Win: A Star is Born (“Shallow”)

“Shallow” had this award locked up the moment A Star is Born came out. I don’t think much else needs to be said.

Best Sound Editing

Will Win: First Man

Could Win: A Quiet Place

Upset Watch: Bohemian Rhapsody

Should Win: First Man

Both sound categories are stacked with talent this year. I see the two categories splitting in favor of two movies as an inevitability. As much as I think First Man deserves them both, it is in danger of being overthrown on both accounts. Here, it is A Quiet Place and Bohemian Rhapsody with the potential to upset.

Best Sound Mixing

Will Win: Bohemian Rhapsody

Could Win: First Man

Upset Watch: A Star is Born

Should Win: First Man

If Bohemian Rhapsody takes just one of the two sound categories, it will be for Sound Mixing. A Star is Born has similar ambitions in its song mixing, but I don’t think the film stands out like Bohemian in that regard.

Best Visual Effects

Will Win: First Man

Could Win: Avengers: Infinity War

Should Win: First Man

This is a true contest between subtlety of visual effects (First Man) and quantity of visual effects (Avengers: Infinity War). I would like to think subtlety wins out in the end, but this might be wishful thinking.

This is not to say the massive amount of effects work in Avengers ought to be overlooked, but First Man is marvelous without the need to be jam-packed with Marvel. In the end, I think the realism that First Man creates is more impressive.

Best Documentary Feature

Will Win: RBG

Could Win: Free Solo

Should Win: Minding the Gap

If you ask me, Minding the Gap is the best film of this lot, but its chances of winning are slim. Free Solo has rallied late, and it now rests atop the Gold Derby chart. That said, I think RBG carries the political weight that the Academy and Hollywood like to throw around. It isn’t the best documentary of the year, by far, but it is the type of film that the Academy wants to reward for its messaging.

(Free Solo, though, is one of the most impressive feats of cinematography I have ever seen in a documentary).

Best Animated Feature

Will Win: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

Upset Watch: Incredibles 2

Should Win: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse takes this in a walk.

Best Foreign Language Feature

Will Win: Roma

Upset Watch: Cold War

Should Win: Shoplifters

Roma (probably) takes this in a walk.

The only scenario in which it loses involves weird category splitting that spreads the wealth. But Roma is more likely to win this and lose Best Picture than it is to lose Best Picture and win this.

Best Live Action Short

Will Win: Marguerite

Upset Watch: Detainment

Should Win: Madre

One of these things is not like the other. Marguerite is the only short in this bunch of five that doesn’t leave you feeling empty and depressed. It is the feel-good choice, and that will make it stand out.

But see Madre if you get the chance. It is a one-take short with some amazing tension and a great lead performance.

Best Animated Short

Will Win: Bao

Upset Watch: One Small Step

Should Win: Bao

Bao takes this one in a walk. No contest.

Best Documentary Short

Will Win: Period. End of Sentence.

Could Win: Black Sheep

Should Win: Period. End of Sentence. or Lifeboat

This is a split category. Black Sheep is arguably receiving the most buzz out of any of these shorts, and the late Netflix release could harm Period. End of Sentence. more than help it.

That said, Period. End of Sentence. is global, politically important, and competently constructed (without breaking the mold). That is the formula for Best Documentary Short.

There you have it. My final ballot for 2019. Now that that’s over with, I am ready to be surprised (and, most likely, bored) by the Oscars ceremony.

With the 91st Academy Awards just days away, awards season is coming to an unceremonious end. That is unless the Academy has something up its sleeve after angering viewers at every turn. There will be no host, all categories will be presented during the telecast, and there is no Most Popular category. All of this backlash for a broadcast dedicated to handing gold trophies out to famous people.

Yet, love them or hate them, the Oscars still hold cultural capital in a mainstream sense. If Green Book beats out Roma for Best Picture, it may be a sign of these populist tendencies, that the Academy hopes for broadly appealing films so that the industry it is housed within remains likeable and profitable. For an older Academy voter, Roma spits in the face of what it means to be a film. It has an art house style and resides on Netflix; its theatrical box office will be, if it wins, by far the lowest of any Best Picture winner ever.

This might be a cynical reading of this year’s Best Picture race. But if I feel justified in my cynicism of anything, it is an art form that is also a business. More specifically, it is the elite voting pool of industry professionals within the most business-oriented branch of the film world: Hollywood.

This is all a roundabout way of saying I think Green Book is the favorite to win Best Picture over the current betting odds favorite Roma. There are simply too many variables in the way of Roma. The Foreign Language nomination could split the vote. The Netflix thing will turn off the older members of the Academy (the average age of an Academy member in 2012 was 62. Even if this is likely less than it was before the Academy over-hauled its membership post #OscarsSoWhite, those older members still have their vote).

The other nominees for Best Picture have been all but eliminated following the guild awards. No single film emerged as a front-runner following the SAGs, DGAs, WGAs, and PGAs. No film made a dent enough to contend against Green Book and Roma, either. The only potential outliers are BlackKklansman and BlackPanther. But Black Panther‘s SAG ensemble win shouldn’t be enough to push it into the conversation.

BlackKklansman, on the other hand, is a slightly different case. The guild awards are less significant in this case, because there is a significant narrative. The Academy has pressure to award Spike Lee, as the narrative emphasizes how he has been snubbed in the past. All the same, not every Academy voter is going to respond to a narrative. BlackKklansman would need to be enough voters’ second place choice to compete against Roma (which will be many voters’ number one or number two).

The preferential ballot is what is keeping Roma in this race and the others out. In a year without a Roma, BlackKlansman or A Star is Born could rack up enough number two slots to potentially edge out a GreenBook. But this year, it is not to be.

The most likely scenario for BlackKklansman is the consolation prize win for Best Adapted Screenplay. That way, the Academy can credit themselves with handing Lee an Oscar, even if that compliment would be back-handed.

Of course, something strange can happen when a Best Picture race narrows into its narrative in the final weeks. All of the conversation becomes focused on two to three films, but prognosticators can never know exactly what is in the minds of Academy voters. The buzz may be around Green Book and Roma, but there are six other films on the table. While something like Vice or Bohemian Rhapsody seem like impossible choices, those middle of the road contenders could be out-performing experts’ expectations.

All the same, I have to fall in the Green Book camp. I cannot for the life of me picture the moment of the film winning—the film Twitter response to it, I can picture far more easily. But I think it has an edge over Roma because of its conventional nature. This may seem counter-intuitive, given that last year’s Best Picture winner was a fantasy romance involving a woman and a fish creature. But even The Shape of Water played to the older Academy’s sensibilities. I don’t think Roma does the same, no matter how much money Netflix burns running their Oscar campaign.

In three days time, I might have to wipe egg off my face. Frankly, I hope I do.

The Post Script

If you have been following my awards season coverage, then you know that the above prediction diverges from the Best Picture prediction I made earlier this year. A lot has changed in the month-or-so since I made those predictions. If you want my most up-to-date predictions, check out my final Oscar ballot here.

What do you think will win Best Picture this Sunday? Let us know in the comments, or vote in the current poll.

Centuries in the future, Earth has been ravaged by a vague war known as “The Fall.” Most people live in squalor, while the elite live in a sky city named Zalem. A doctor who performs cyber-prosthetic surgery, Ido (Christoph Waltz), discovers in a junkyard of scrap metal the remains of a cyborg. He rebuilds her, calls her Alita (Rosa Salazar), and explains the world to her for our benefit.

She doesn’t remember anything of her past, but soon enough everyone in the city’s underbelly (and a select few from the city above) want her dead. Funnily enough, Alita just happens to be equipped with uncanny martial arts abilities that can quickly dispatch of most cyborg assailants.

So we have Alita: Battle Angel, the James Cameron scripted and produced, Robert Rodriguez-directed adaptation of Gunnm (“gun dream”), the popular 1990s manga. I have never read the manga. Perhaps it is truly groundbreaking. I also do not know how faithful an adaptation Rodriguez’s film is. All I can say is this: Alita is a clunky mess.

The world of Alita: Battle Angel is vast and dense, thus the film requires a hefty amount of exposition, most of which is dictated to Alita in the first 30 minutes of the film as a series of parameters. Ido explains something to her, then prompts her that it is dangerous and/or should be avoided at all costs. Because, foreshadowing.

Alita then meets a boy, Hugo (Keean Johnson), who serves his time as the static love interest. He shows her the opposite side of the coin, that things can be fun and exciting. Most of this comes in the form of Motorball, a fictional sport involving rollerskating on ramps and throwing a ball into a hole in the wall. Or something. It is an arbitrary sport that looks fast-paced and exciting, but it is ultimately confusing to ascertain the stakes.

And Motorball is just the beginning. Soon there will be Hunter Warriors, evil assassins who are mainly made of metal, flashbacks to a war in Alita’s past, a man who can transfer his consciousness into the body of cyborgs, etc.. The world-building piles on, and the film just can’t carry its weight.

The unbalance is that of a pinball machine tilt. Too much jamming on the exposition, and the whole thing locks into place. I guess in this analogy the pinball is excitement, falling rapidly out of play.

This is not to say that Alita is boring, per se. But it becomes a slog when the majority of the narrative involves explaining in a tell-don’t-show mentality. The actual narrative action of the film begins at the very end. As Alita comes to understand more about her past, and the story aligns her with what has been foreshadowed previously, the stakes become real and the tilt of exposition-heavy storytelling falls away. The machine resets. But this is the film’s climax, when it really ought to be the inciting incident.

The film ends with a form of sequel baiting that is almost always groan-worthy. Without spoiling the specifics, it involves literally pointing toward the next film and the reveal of a major acting figure. It’s a lazy tactic, and it makes you question the worth of the film you just watched, as the film has not justified such momentous shot-calling.

To say the film is unimpressive would be difficult. Rodriguez has successfully crafted this world. It looks vibrant (the lighting, as artificially crafted as it might be, is quite breath-taking). The look of Alita, which initially caused a jocular internet response, is not off-putting. I find it to be a rather seamless effect, and Salazar’s performance is impressive given that her face is literally reshaped by computer graphics.

It is the inconsistency of effects that allows this CG world to show its seams. Each actor has a different level of CG-augmented appearance to them, and most of the others don’t look as seamless as Alita. Putting some of these characters in scenes together does not mesh well.

Long story short, Alita: Battle Angel has its glossy surface. It has its tactical set pieces. But it is not a story told smoothly. The narrative is not compelling, because everything that needs to be set-up is done so inelegantly. Ultimately, this makes the film read bland, less exciting. Most likely, forgettable.

At an early age, Natalie (Rebel Wilson) is taught from her mom that she is not the type of woman they make romantic comedies about. Those movies don’t fit into real life; at least, they don’t fit into what her real life will be. “We’re no Julia Roberts,” Natalie’s told. If they made a movie out of her life, they would have to “sprinkle Prozac on the popcorn.”

Natalie has carried these values, perhaps subconsciously, into her adult life. She assumes she is blind to the world, and thus she allows herself to be pushed around at work. She is an architect, but she lets her boss treat her as a secretary when their new client, the rich Blake (Liam Hemsworth) mistakes her for a coffee courier. The office administrator, tasked with fixing broken machines, has Natalie do it instead.

Natalie’s best friend Whitney (Betty Gilpin)—our only evidence that they are actually best friends and not just co-workers is Whitney claiming they are best friends—watches romantic comedies at work, to Natalie’s chagrin.

Natalie proceeds to go on a rant about the falsehood that is the romantic comedy. It is certainly not a new set of critiques, but it feels especially clunky in Todd Straus-Schulson’s Isn’t It Romantic due to the film’s sharply-pointed premise. See, Natalie is going to conclude this conversation and go on to hit her head during an attempted mugging, thereby setting into motion her transportation into a real-life romantic comedy. From there, she will have to learn how to love in order to return to her former life.

This premise pierces into every joke the movie provides, and the joke is that Natalie does not like the premise she is given. To have Natalie explain every cliche and tired trope that Isn’t It Romantic is about to explore is slightly redundant. It lays out every beat the film is about to hit before any humor can be mined from them.

Most of the first act is doing this redundant premise work. Natalie is “blind to love.” People would have a better time seeing her if she were “open.”

Once the film enters its world of generic parody, once “someone put[s] a beauty filter over New York City,” there is room for humor. It is getting there that’s clunky. And getting out.

But the initial flare of the colorful, glitzy, pop song-infused New York is comic. There are flowers everywhere, to which Natalie is allergic. Hemsworth’s playboy mogul turns into a doting, Australian love interest (the running thread of his use of the term “beguiling” is particularly cheeky). Profanity and sexual situations are skimmed over with car horns and cross dissolves to accommodate the PG-13 rating of this environment.

It is a humorous conceit. Although, the cliches are amplified to a grating degree; this is part of the comedy. But the joke is often that the cliches exist in amplified degrees, not that they serve the parody towards larger comedic goals. The story from Erin Cardillo provides the largest source of comedy: the premise. The final script, though, lacks a longevity that would serve the parody.

The film is dressed as a parody, yet its comedy comes predominantly from a recognition of its parodic premise, as opposed to parody proper. It plays into some of the worst elements of the genre it houses itself within, but it also wants to live in harmony with the cliches. Thus, it is similarly cloying and saccharine and obnoxious as a bad rom-com without the full satisfaction of self-aware cynicism, because it quickly does away with irony.

Perhaps cynicism is not the right approach for the crowd the film is reaching for, but starting with that cynicism and replacing it with the genuine affections of a rom-com doesn’t square. In this regard, Isn’t it Romantic cannot have its cake and eat it, too. It’s just the frosting: sugary and crusty and, by the time its gone, slightly nauseating.

But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t give me isolated moments of belly laughter. Rebel Wilson and Liam Hemsworth do some good work with the conceit of their relationship, their weird, artificial chemistry playing for laughs consistently.

Steven Soderbergh’s last film, Unsane, was shot entirely on an iPhone. And the discomfort that came from such an isolating, wide-angle experience made sense in the setting of that film. All the same, the narrative of Unsane left something to be desired.

Steven Soderbergh’s second film to be shot on iPhone, High Flying Bird, interrogates the business side of professional basketball. Its discomforting lenses make (relatively) less sense. But the narrative is all too compelling. Thus, Unsane and High Flying Bird make a compelling point-counterpoint.

The plot of High Flying Bird concerns Ray Burke (Andre Holland), a representative of NBA prospects who is facing a lockout and the potential loss of clientele. It is not so much the sport that is on display here, though, but the sport of taking ownership of the NBA image. Tarell Alvin McCraney’s script poses this question of ownership. Who is allowed to control the NBA player’s image? The player? The NBA proper? Media? Social media? Reps? The bosses of those reps?

It is a continuing stream of fish swimming for the upper hand. Most of these fish are adversarial yet superfluous, like Kyle MacLaughlin’s David Seton, Zachary Quinto’s David Starr, or Sonja Sohn’s Myra. They are merely pawns in the game of the talky plot. The talkiness of this script is compelling, the sentiments of its characters grounded, but the pawns are one too many.

But push past the pawns to the rooks, the knights, the queens, and you find the gold nuggets of High Flying Bird. Holland is one of them, as are Zazie Beetz, Melvin Gregg, and Bill Duke. These actors chew into the meat of the script. They deliver true, fleshed-out characters from this meditation on corporate cynicism. Holland exemplifies it in a gripping monologue. Duke with a no-BS look and the claiming of an office as “his court.”

There is something entrancing about Soderbergh’s lensing. Frames are sometimes jagged. Sometimes clean. Sometimes flat and empty. Sometimes cavernously deep and empty. The difficulty in lighting off iPhone lens attachments sometimes causes shadows that crowd faces or otherwise blown-out lighting that pierces against the edges of faces.

It is a unique aesthetic, but not one that is altogether aesthetically pleasing. With Unsane, the low-budget, low-tech aesthetic amplified uneasiness. Here, it is a camera that calls attention to itself. Whether it strikes your fancy or not, it is noticeable. For me, that noticeability is not an asset.

Soderbergh’s new venture, this low-tech approach, is both a fascination and a distraction. It is inventive, to a degree, and it is risky. Not to mention that the up-front aesthetic presents an immediate shift to the tonal energy of his films. But the iPhone-shot film is still in a nascent stage. Tangerine acted as a disrupter. Now, Soderbergh is trying to market the concept. But High Flying Bird is visually off. It is this noticeability, which acts to distract from what McCraney’s script is achieving.

McCraney is writing a stage play. It is incisive and sharp, and the dialogue cuts through to your attention span and takes control. Having strange depth cues and off-kilter lighting does not add to this experience, it detracts from it. As successful as Soderbergh is at harnessing the technological limitations he chooses for himself, the experiment is not helping the cause.